


don't mess with me, i'll shoot you down

by possumsrus



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Fucking Major Character Death is Major, M/M, Roman is GONE, ZsaszMask, an unhealthy coping mechanism, angst but make it homoerotic, but maybe in a little more gore-y detail, hrf shnrf, murder as a coping mechanism, out of this bitch, set after the end of the movie with a few changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possumsrus/pseuds/possumsrus
Summary: Victor survives the Booby Trap. Roman does not.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Kudos: 12





	don't mess with me, i'll shoot you down

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Don’t Mess With Me by Temposhark

Victor Zsasz stumbled out of Booby Trap sluggishly, aching all over. He could have handled those bitches, he _could have_ , they just caught him off guard. Having a goddamn arrow, bolt, fucking _whatever_ in his neck didn’t exactly help either. Victor was fairly sure he was propelling himself forward on adrenaline alone. He was going to crash soon, for sure. That was, unfortunately, the least of his worries. The scene he was met with outside was not ideal. 

Members of the False Face Society were scattered across the lot in puddles of their own blood, knocked over like tin soldiers. Some army. You got what you paid for, Victor guessed. Maybe that was why the U.S. military’s budget was so fucking enormous. A few of the surviving mishmash of mercs and favors ambled around the edges, looking nervous. Noticeably absent was any sign of Roman. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Victor limped over to one of the men he recognized as quickly as he could. Jack was the fucker’s name. Probably.

The man balked at the sight of Victor dragging himself towards him and tried to hide a very obvious shudder. It didn’t work. Victor was good at noticing things people were trying to hide. 

“Zsasz,” Jack said, smiling a little too wide.

“Jack,” Victor replied, his face set in a grimace. The man’s face fell a little. 

“John,” he corrected meekly. Victor ignored him. 

“What’s the bad news?” 

John chuckled nervously and shrunk in on himself. 

“Who says there’s bad news?” John asked, looking anywhere but at the killer. Victor raised an eyebrow and felt blood drip over his forehead. Huh. 

“Right, right, okay,” John said, fearful smile still plastered on his face, “Just don’t freak when you hear it, man.”

Victor’s grimace did not falter. 

“Mr. S-” 

Victor felt a shot of icy fear pierce his heart. 

“What the fuck’s happened to Roman?!” 

John shook his head, looking petrified. Victor just barely registered tightly grasping the other man’s shirt. 

“What happened to him?! ANSWER ME!!” 

“He drove off, but, uh… Quinn followed. Coupla the guys followed after her, just caught up to ‘em after they reached Founder’s Pier. They s-saw… saw the, uh, explosion. Th’ Mask’s gone, man. No way he coulda survived that.” 

Victor loosened his death grip for a second, processing this information. John looked grateful, or he would have, if Victor had been looking at him. Roman, dead. It felt like two puzzle pieces that didn’t click together. Victor remembered the puzzles that sat on the tables in Arkham sometimes. After all, the guards had thought, how could the inmates possibly kill each other with fucking puzzles? They’d been wrong. 

Victor grabbed one of the guns scattered on the asphalt around them and aimed. 

“H-hey man,” John stammered, “Don’t shoot the messeng-” 

Victor cut him off in a fountain of blood and pulled a knife from his pocket, whipping it through the air at the next nearest man with shocking precision. He could barely even feel his injuries anymore. Nothing mattered. Nothing could stop him from hacking and slashing and slicing this city to the fucking ground. 

Roman, the only man who’d ever been tender with him. The only person _Victor_ had been tender _to._

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

What exactly had happened to him? Had he been knocked back into the surf below the pier. Had he panicked? Had seawater slipped into his chest and exchanged with his blood? Had it threaded cold fingers through a ruined chest and shattered ribs to curl heavily around his heart? Had Roman lived long enough to drown? Had he lived long enough to cry out to Victor to help him one last time? Had Roman died with Zsasz’s name on his lips? Had that used up his last breath? 

Victor came to, hours later, as the sun rose. He was soaked in blood, definitely not all his. He was in a warehouse and, sprawled around him and strung up with his signature chains, was a fucking massacre. Victor didn’t even recognize all of them. He looked at what was almost certainly his own handiwork and smiled. 

Then he remembered. 

There, cloaked in viscera and blood, Victor fell to his knees and rage ripped out of his throat as a new day dawned over an old city. It was going to fucking regret crossing Victor Zsasz.


End file.
